Brandy For the Damned
by a starr in photo
Summary: Drowning in lies is like drowning in quicksand, the more you struggle, the faster you sink. Lying is her job, but she discovers that while it's necessary to keep her charge safe, it's dangerous. Her job is difficult without her team searching too. R/P
1. Prologue

The Full Summary: Drowning in lies is a lot like drowning in quicksand, the more you struggle to get out, the faster you sink. For Emily Prentiss, lying comes with the job, not as a criminal profiler- that's a lie too. She soon discovers that while lying is necessary to keep her charge and herself safe, it also makes things a lot more dangerous. And her job is difficult enough, without the greatest minds in the FBI- the one and only BAU team- searching for her as well.

A/N: Okay, I give up resisting. I really wanted to write this story, and if my publicist finds out, she'll kill me, so let's not tell her, okay? Anyhow, this is just the prologue, it's very vague, but I hope you all enjoy this, let me you know if you do!

Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me, except a few, like the Chief.

Emily sighed as she walked through the door of her brownstone, dropping her gun and badge on the table. It had been a long trip, and she had been so sure that she had failed her mission, but they had found him, Spencer, and aside from track marks and a dead unsub, he was no worse for wear. The moment they were back on the plane, she had excused herself to the bathroom, and reported in to the chief, not Hotchner, but another one, who was only known as chief. And after an awkwardly long chastising, she put in her order. Nobody had asked any questions when she emerged from the bathroom on the jet, it had been an overly emotional day, nobody had seen her so much as crinkle her brow, and her face was blanched from the verbal lashing. They came to their own conclusions.

When she returned home, everything she had ordered was there waiting for her, just inside the locked door in sturdy metal boxes. She pried each one open; the state of the art electronics that brought an almost gleeful look to her face. They weren't commercial products, and even someone like Garcia wouldn't be able to get her hands on any of it. She placed all of it gently into a black back pack, and tucked a few extra guns into their holsters on her body. Tucking her Glock 17 into her belt, she left the brownstone, not bothering to look back.

Four years later.

"You have got to be kidding me," Emily groaned, mostly to herself as she fumbled for the key to her garage. Her knees were buckling slightly under the weight of the unconscious man, thrown over her shoulder. With a bright smile and an "aha!" she located the elusive object and opened the garage door. Once inside, she dropped the man, not caring where he fell, and hurried to close the door behind her. It was bare inside, nothing but a chair, a light and a terrifyingly large array of knives. She unholstered a few of her guns, setting them on the table bearing the knives, and her uncharacteristically soft brown eyes flicked to her watch, checking the time.

With a grimace, Emily lifted the man from the floor and set him on the chair in the middle of the room. With a roll of the ever trusty duct tape, she bound his hands behind his back and his feet together before taping him to the metal chair. It would be a good fifteen minutes before he came around, she figured, silently calculating the effects that the drugs would have on him, based on height and body mass. Absentmindedly, she checked her cell phone, thankful that she hadn't received word about new cases, JJ tended to have terrible timing like that. She glanced at her watch again and then left the room; there was no point in waiting there for him to come around.

"Oh well, look who finally decided to wake up," Emily smirked, walking into the garage. The man in the chair had woken up, and although he seemed to be quite dazed, the fear that registered on his face when he saw her didn't go unnoticed. If anything, Emily was grateful for the BAU training she had received, it had only served to make her actual job easier. "You were so uncooperative before, Javi," an antagonizing tone in her voice.

The man growled, "I'm not telling you anything," he bit back quickly, clamping his mouth closed, brows furrowed. Emily just laughed sardonically, her grin uncharacteristically malicious.

"We'll see about that, Javi. That's what they all say after all," She replied simply, lifting a knife from the table and walking over to the chair, a seductive sway in her hips. Emily couldn't help but notice his eyes grazing over her almost appreciatively. Exactly what she wanted, after all, she leaned forward over him, allowing an eyeful of cleavage before sinking the knife into his thigh. He let out a scream and she grinned, they really were all the same. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me anything Javi? We could get this over right now you know," she offered offhandedly.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Javier replied, blood soaking into his faded jeans. Emily retreated, leaving the knife in his thigh. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, securing it tightly.

"You know, I can do that."

The man let out another piercing shriek, his throat hoarse and dry from screaming. Emily was standing over him, a foot pressing down on his crotch as she cut tiny filet slices in his arm, ribboning the flesh there. "Are you going to tell me who you work for?" Emily asked unsympathetically.

"Fine yes, I'll talk, I'll talk, just stop," the man cried out. Both upper arms nearly completely mutilated, it had only taken Emily about three hours. She pulled the knife away, dropping her foot to the floor. "I work for an Israeli company, Radah Inc. They sent me here, please, I'm just doing my job," he pleaded, black eyes wide with fear.

Emily just nodded in understanding, filing the company away with the list of others she had heard. With clicking heels against the concrete floor, she walked over to the table and picked up her gun, standard issue, Glock 17. She smirked, as he sobbed for his life, for forgiveness. "Any means necessary," she shrugged, placing the barrel against his temple and pulling the trigger. The man slumped against his restraints immediately. She pulled two of her knives out of the man's flesh and wiped the blood off on his jeans. She dropped the weapons on the table and walked out of the garage, he wouldn't start smelling for a few days, there was no need to take care of the body right away.


	2. Put On Your Face

A/N: Clarification, yes, this will be a pretty disturbing story. Think a little Chuck meets Burn Notice meets Criminal Minds with my own little flair. It will get graphic, and I don't think the first few chapters deserve the rating, but I might up this to M just in case. It won't all be dark and twisty of course, but I'm dealing with killers and killer killers so... yeah it'll be pretty intense. I wasn't sure what categories to put it in, this will turn into an adventure in a few chapters, it won't be a happy one, but adventure none the less, and the romance will play a main roll, which is of course, Prentiss/Reid, because I don't write anything else for this fandom. Hope you guys stick around through the gore. It'll probably alternate chapters so this one's not so bad. Enjoy!

A loud ring jarred Emily from her sleep. She scrounged around her night stand, trying to find her cell phone in the dark. Her hand finally landed on the item and she brought it to her ear. "Jayje?" she asked, her voice husky with sleep. "We got a case?"

"Yeah, sorry, Em, here in DC. Hotch wants everyone in the office in thirty, we're briefing in the conference room," JJ's equally tired voice came through the receiver, and Emily could just picture the sleepy look on her face.

"Alright, I'll be there," Emily replied with a yawn, flicking her phone shut and pushing herself out of the bed. It was still dark, barely four am, and she stumbled around her bedroom as she got dressed. She glanced at her watch as she stumbled out the front door, tucking her gun into its holster. Only once she got into her car and started driving did she realize that there was a serial killer on the loose, in her city.

XXX

"Oh good, everyone's here," Hotch spoke, strutting into the conference room and taking his seat. JJ nodded and turned her head to the screen, remote and file folder in hand. Everyone else was seated in their usual spots, looking expectedly exhausted, even Morgan looked rumpled; his arms crossed across his chest, a grimace on his face, letting everyone in the room know that he had been pulled away from a _very _good time.

"This is Javier Montoya, 34 found last night in a storage shed," JJ explained as she clicked the remote, flipping to a picture of a man, duct taped to a chair, "cause of death was a bullet to the head, his arms were sliced open, completely mutilating them, he also has stab wounds to the thighs, abdomen and superficial slicing around his neck," she flipped to a close up of his arms.

"The wounds on his arms appear to be a type of lingchi," Reid announced, his hands flailing slightly as he gestured, "It was originally a type of Chinese execution that literally meant slow slicing. It was eventually banned from practice due to the cruelty. Because of the slow death it was used for criminals considered most worthy, treason, killers and the like. It's unusual, though, lingchi was usually performed on the torso, not the arms, did the toxicology report show any opiates?" the words stumbled out of his mouth quickly, before turning to JJ, eyes wide and waiting.

"Uh, no, there wasn't," JJ replied, flipping through the chart. "The toxicology report came back negative for everything."

"Victims were generally given opium before their execution, not to keep them from feeling it, but to keep them awake during the torture. Perhaps the unsub doesn't actually want the victim to die from the lingchi, it has been used in torture as a means of getting information…" Reid suggested an intrigued look on his face. "Were there other victims?"

"Yes," JJ flipped to another photo, "This is Arun Jobb, twenty two, he bears nearly the exact same wounds as the second victim, the slices to the arm, gunshot wound to the head and multiple stab wounds."

"Interesting victimology," Morgan commented, "they don't have any apparent commonalities. One's Middle Eastern, the other Latino, one's in his early twenties, the other mid thirties. No sexual assault," it was a question directed at JJ, he continued on with a nod, "the lingchi is probably what gets this unsub off. It's his signature."

The room went silent, all pondering about the possible implications. "These are too controlled to be his first two kills, there were probably others, most likely with different M.O.s," Rossi suggested, "This appears to be a skilled, practiced killer, are you sure we're looking at pleasure killers and not a hired hit? The bullet wound, the cause of death indicates that the actual death isn't what he's after. Reid mentioned information seeking. That could be the motifs behind this…" Rossi trailed off.

Emily just continued to stare at the images on the screen, her face completely blanched, and silent horror in her eyes. Her mouth was clamped shut, too stunned to pry it open and speak. Nobody noticed, not at first, but Reid turned to her, and it was a room full of profilers.

"Are you alright, Emily?" Reid had asked, concern evident in his voice. Emily had always been the compartmentalized one, she didn't show emotion, certainly not the disgust and horror evident on her face. "It's nothing worse than we've seen before."

"I-I know," she replied finally, cursing silently at the stutter in her voice. "It's just… the lingchi, it's so..." she groped for the word, wondering where her composure had gone. Reid reached over, placing a reassuring hand on her forearm.

"Disturbing?" He supplied sympathetically. She nodded in response, her mouth shut once again. Everyone had turned to look at her, all concerned. Emily didn't do emotion... it was, startling, for everyone.

"We're heading over to the DC police department now, we'll set up there to work with them, instead of here," Hotch cut in, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Reid, I'd like you to work on a geographic profile, be as precise as you can, we know the area so that will be to our advantage, Morgan and Rossi head over to the morgue, Prentiss and I will visit the families, JJ I'd like you to coordinate a press release, if this is something more organized than a serial killer, we don't want them getting wind of our investigation."

Everyone nodded and dispersed, and Reid caught Emily's arm before she could walk off with the others. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, reaching out. She had always been there for him, a shoulder to lean on, and he wanted to return the favor.

"Yeah there's just that one, you know? That hits close to home," she replied simply, her eyes still wide with the evident shock. Reid nodded, he understood, he had been there before too. "I should," she gestured towards Hotch, tearing her gaze from his warm, hazel eyes. He nodded again, and Emily could tell that he was rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. "See ya," she left with a pathetic little wave, and he just raised his hand to her back, his eyes dropping immediately.

XXX

Emily's phone vibrated against her thigh and she fished it out of her pocket, flipping it open to check the text message. She cursed inwardly as she read the message, and glanced over to Hotch, who was driving the SUV they were in. There was no way she could get back to the house without him noticing, she only had to pray that Reid would go straight to the police station, instead of going home. Biting her lip, she glanced at the phone again.

"Hey Hotch," she questioned, "do you know if Reid was planning on going straight to the station?" she asked, knowing that her mission was more important than her lie.

"Uh, yeah," he nodded, "why?" The experienced profiler asked, turning to look at Emily, a suspicious look on his face.

"Just curious," she shrugged. He wasn't buying any of it though, and she knew it.


End file.
